


heartbeat is razor thin

by pirateygoodness



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Infidelity, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dreams, Episode: s2e09 Forever Mine Nevermind, F/F, Missing Scene, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: Waverly hates fighting and she hates feeling this way and she kissed Rosita and that didn’t fix a damn thing. Rosita tasted like champagne and strawberries, lips soft and sweet, and for a half-second that softness and sweetness was comforting. Rosita kissed her and all Waverly could think about was how the shape of her lips was wrong; all the ways it wasn’t like kissing Nicole.(Missing scene, set in the middle of episode 2.09: Forever Mine Nevermind)





	heartbeat is razor thin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to falsealarm for the beta-read. Title from Hayley Kiyoko’s “One Bad Night.”

Waverly hates fighting. 

This is not a secret; Waverly feels like it’s written all over her face, plain as day. Sweet Waverly, Nice Waverly, Conflict-Avoidant-to-a-Fault Waverly: they’re all synonymous. 

Fighting with Nicole is even _worse_. With Champ it was easy, somehow. He never got under her skin in quite the same way. By the end, they had things down to a routine. She’d ignore him until he was ready to admit he’d done something wrong, he’d come back with flowers and that goofy smile and his hips pressed into hers ( _come on, Waverly, you know I’m sorry_ ) and she’d give in, every time. 

This is different. Like one of those rides at the midway, the ones that spin around and suddenly _dip_ , extra centrifugal force tugging at the pit of her stomach every time she remembers that hurt look on Nicole’s face. (The last time she was on a ride like that was when she rode the Tilt-A-Whirl at the Stampede in the big city. She was eight years old and desperate to do everything her big sister did; she threw up mini-donuts all over her front and Wynonna teased her for days.

Fighting with Nicole feels like that.)

It’s also different because this is something _real_. It’s not Champ forgetting her birthday or passing out on her porch again. This is Nicole trying to protect her when she didn’t need to and Waverly wishing she’d been a little bit protected because _there’s a chance that she’s half-Revenant_ and the only person she wants to talk to about it is Nicole. It’s different because Nicole is different, she’s emotionally intelligent and _trying_ to fix this and then there’s the very real possibility that Waverly’s in love with her and she just - something. She needs that Tilt-A-Whirl feeling to stop for ten minutes so she can figure out what to do. 

(Not what to do; how to fix it. This has to get fixed, that’s what makes it so _hard_.)

Waverly hates fighting and she hates feeling this way and she kissed Rosita and that didn’t fix a damn thing. Rosita tasted like champagne and strawberries, lips soft and sweet, and for a half-second that softness and sweetness was comforting. Rosita kissed her and all Waverly could think about was how the shape of her lips was wrong; all the ways it wasn’t like kissing Nicole. 

(Nicole who kisses her like she's the most precious thing in the world, sometimes, gentle enough that Waverly feels like she'll shatter under the tenderness of it. Nicole who also kisses with her teeth, dirty and sloppy and full of wanting that makes Waverly feel so sexy and important that she trembles with it.) 

Four Old Fashioneds and a brief kidnapping later and Waverly still feels like shit but at least she’s drunk. Which, again: doesn’t really solve anything, but at least all of her problems feel sort of fuzzy around the edges. She drinks and giggles - platonically - with Rosie until she’s too tired to keep up. 

She sleeps in Rosita’s bedroom, the one in the apartment above Shorty’s that used to be hers. It’s different, now - lab notebooks scattered over the desk, bras two sizes too big for Waverly hanging over the back of a chair near the bed - but normal. Waverly’s not sure how else Rosita’s room would be, but somehow knowing that she’s a _Revenant_ makes Waverly think of bodies and death, not lipstick and mismatched lingerie. 

(She checks under the bed to be sure: not a corpse in sight.) 

 

She dreams about Nicole. 

She dreams about Nicole’s mouth, kissing her and being kissed back and the ways that always makes her feel warm and safe. She laughs into Nicole’s kiss and Nicole laughs back, sunshine and barely-contained sighs as she whispers, “ _Wave_ ” toward the ceiling. 

Nicole’s skin tastes like peaches, like salt and sweat and Waverly kisses at it like she’s starving, like it’s been forever. 

(It’s been _forever_ , they haven’t kissed in days and Waverly misses it with her whole heart -)

(- they haven’t kissed in days and they’re not kissing now, this isn’t real but she wants it to be.)

Nicole’s tits are perfect and soft and Waverly doesn’t think she’ll ever get sick of tasting them. She mouths at the skin of them roughly, taking the top of Nicole’s breast into her mouth and sucking until Nicole gasps, sighs, clutches at her. 

Waverly laughs, bites a little harder. 

She doesn’t see her own eyes go red but she _feels_ it, the way they burn like the fires of hell as her teeth come out. She bites and Nicole bleeds and Waverly tastes it in her mouth, sharp and coppery. She doesn’t want to hurt Nicole, wants to _stop_ but she can’t, she can’t, she can’t - 

 

Waverly wakes up. 

Her mouth doesn’t taste like blood; it tastes like whiskey and cherries and forgetting to brush her teeth. Her heart is hammering and the room feels like it’s spinning a little bit and there’s a long, tense moment where she thinks she might have to leave the bed to go throw up. 

The feeling passes - she thinks. She doesn’t remember, but she knows that the bed is soft and she feels like she’s spinning down into it, drifting away. 

 

Nicole's in her arms, again. 

Or she's in Nicole’s, maybe. Waverly’s body feels tangled with Nicole’s, entwined in a way she can’t imagine wanting to leave. Nicole’s kissing at her shoulders, hair catching the light from the window and it makes her look like she’s shimmering, red-gold. Nicole nuzzles downward, until her face is in the hollow between Waverly’s breasts. She breathes in, kissing Waverly’s sternum with a happy little sigh that always makes Waverly’s heart squeeze, just a little. 

“Mine,” Nicole breathes against her skin. 

“Yours,” Waverly echoes. “Always yours.” 

Nicole’s fingers are digging into Waverly’s hips and suddenly their bodies are even closer, her thigh flexing against Waverly’s apex. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she says. 

She’s grinning. Waverly feels like she can hardly remember the last time she saw Nicole smile at her like that. 

(Nicole is looking at her from her desk at the police station. Waverly’s angry and she doesn’t know how to say it in a way that Nicole will understand but for some reason her mouth produces the phrase _self-righteous douchecanoe_ and Nicole’s eyes go bright and watery.) 

This doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel real. Everything is too close, too much. “Wait,” she whispers. 

Nicole’s arms loosen instantly, and that smile turns into a frown of concern. “What's wrong? Baby, you're safe. It's ok."

"I'll hurt you," Waverly says. 

"Waverly," Nicole murmurs. She reaches up and caresses Waverly’s face, her palm so warm on Waverly’s skin that it almost burns. "My Waverly,” she says. 

Waverly wants to be, wants only that. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Waverly manages. Her throat feels tight, like she’s about to cry. 

Nicole nuzzles into her neck, but it’s not quite right - her cheeks are wet against Waverly’s skin. “Baby," Nicole whispers. "You already have."

Waverly wakes up wet. 

Rather: she wakes up shivery, with tears in her eyes, more running down her cheeks. Her stupid subconscious dream-brain can go fuck itself. 

She moves to sit up, and as she does, a headache throbs into life, makes the room spin a little. Her mouth is cotton-dry, and _wow_ is she regretting that too-sleepy-for-dental-hygiene approach from last night. 

She needs something. Needs four glasses of water and an aspirin, to start. Then Waverly needs to be held, needs a fuck, needs to call Nicole and apologize over and over again, needs a drink.

She hears movement from downstairs; Rosita emptying the dishwasher in the bar. 

At least one of those things will be down there.


End file.
